


Nicest Thing

by Sena



Series: All The Roads [1]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Reality, Anonymous Sex, Coming of Age, Dark Comedy, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spencer isn't yet on academic probation, but he's close, plus he has to figure out how to keep Brendon from getting evicted and he's pretty sure he'll never be able to look anyone in the eye ever again if they find out that sometimes he uses Craigslist to meet up with guys for sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nicest Thing

Spencer's palms are sweating as he parks his car in the lot in front of the Orleans Hotel. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then pushes his car door open and gets out. He starts walking and doesn't let himself hesitate, walks right into the hotel like he knows where he's going, like he belongs there. He finds the bank of elevators and takes another deep breath as he presses the button to take him to the seventh floor.

His toes are tapping impatiently in his shoes as he waits for the elevator to rise, and once it finally reaches his floor and dings, he can hardly wait to get out and start walking again. He doesn't let himself hesitate, not even once, not even when he gets to room 709 and raises his fist and knocks.

The guy who opens the door isn't short, exactly, but he's shorter than Spencer expected. He's maybe only an inch taller than Spencer himself, a little older and chubbier than in the face pic he'd sent, but still good looking in a normal way. He's wearing a terrycloth robe, belted loosely. He says, "David?"

Spencer nods and says, "Yeah," because he never gives his real name.

The guy smiles at him, smiles wide and pleased and steps back so Spencer can enter. There's porn playing on the television, and Spencer's already half hard, the sight of two men fucking onscreen making him even harder.

The guy, Travis, says, "You want something to drink?" He holds a bottle of hard cider towards Spencer. Spencer's never had one before, and he doesn't usually drink, but he takes it anyway and twists the cap off and takes a long drink before saying, "Thanks."

Then Travis steps forward and Spencer sets the bottle on the dresser. Travis slides his hands over Spencer's shoulders, down his arms, says, "Fuck, you're hot." Spencer tips his head up for a kiss.

He knows it's weird. It's not like he doesn't know it's weird. It's not like he doesn't know it makes him some sort of freak, but it's not like it keeps him up at night. It's not like he worries about it or anything. He just knows that none of his friends would ever understand.

It doesn't matter, though, when he's doing it. When he's in it, when it's some guy's body against his, some guy kissing him and touching him and telling him he's gorgeous, telling him how much they want him, nothing else matters. He's always surprised at how easy it is to get naked with somebody else, how once it's happening he never feels weird at all.

Spencer's mouth is raw from kissing and he's so fucking turned on and then Travis turns him over and starts lapping at his asshole, and Spencer cries out and buries his face in the pillow and arches his hips up.

Travis starts fingering him, and Spencer gets his knees underneath him, presses his ass up into the air and Travis kisses the small of his back and says, "You're fucking hungry for it, aren't you? So fucking hungry for my cock."

Spencer just says, "Yes," because he doesn't care. He _is_ hungry for it. He hasn't been fucked a lot, but he loves it. He has a quick moment of lucidity as Travis pulls away and kneels up behind him. He says, "Condom. You have to wear a condom."

"Already got it in my hand," says Travis, and Spencer hears the wrapper being torn open. He reaches back partly to stroke Travis's cock, but also to make sure he's really putting it on. Nobody's ever tried to trick him before, but the thought has occurred to him that someone might.

Then Travis presses his way inside and Spencer shivers, it feels so good. He screws his eyes shut and rocks back to meet every thrust.

After a while, Travis starts to pull on his shoulders, pulls him up so they're both kneeling, Spencer's legs spread wide, Travis fucking up into him. He leans back against Travis's chest, head lolling back against his shoulder. Travis starts stroking Spencer's chest, his stomach, his cock, and he whispers, "How old are you really?"

Spencer always says he's nineteen online, sometimes even says twenty, but Travis is fucking him so good and he's so close and he can't think of anything but the truth. "Sixteen," Spencer gasps. "I'm sixteen."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Travis says, but not like he's mad that Spencer had lied to him. He says it like it's the hottest thing he's ever heard. He shoves Spencer back onto his hands and knees, grips his hips tight and fucks into him hard and quick. Spencer reaches one hand between his legs and starts jerking himself off and it doesn't take more than a couple of minutes before he's coming all over the bedspread.

Travis comes with a harsh grunt and his fingers dig painfully hard into Spencer's hipbones.

After, when Travis pulls out and collapses onto the bed next to him, Spencer wants to turn and curl up against him. He wants to lay his head on Travis's chest as they catch their breath, wants to hear Travis tell him how sexy he is, how great it had felt. Instead, Travis rolls to his feet and stretches, scratches his balls and says, "Wanna shower?"

Spencer rolls onto his back, avoiding the wet spot, and closes his eyes. He says, "Later."

Travis runs a hand up Spencer's calf, then says, "Feel free to join me in a little while."

Spencer nods and keeps his eyes closed until he hears the water in the bathroom running. When he opens his eyes, he sees the porn still playing on the TV, sound muted. It makes his stomach roll a little bit. He gets up and dresses as quickly as he can.

Travis's wallet is sitting on the top of the dresser next to the six-pack of hard cider still in the plastic convenience store bag. Spencer thinks about taking one of the twenties he can see poking out of the top of the wallet, but only for a moment. He picks up the six-pack, though, since that's not stealing, not really, and he opens the hotel room door as quietly as he can and doesn't look back as it closes behind him.

The litany starts in his head even before he's gotten through the lobby. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ He doesn't know why he does it. He's so stupid sometimes. As he hurries towards his car, he promises himself that it was the last time. He always promises himself that it's the last time.

He drives for a while, until he feels steady again, until the guilt mostly stops gnawing at his insides. It's only six o'clock, and he'd told his mom they had practice that night, so he can't go home. He drives to Brendon's and hopes he's not at work.

Thankfully, Brendon's car is in the apartment parking lot, and Spencer starts to take the stairs to the second floor two at a time. It hurts, though, aches in his thighs and his hipbones and his ass, so he just pauses and breathes for a minute, then continues up one step at a time.

When Brendon opens the door, Spencer holds up the six-pack. Well, five-pack. The sixth bottle is presumably still sitting on the dresser in Travis's hotel room. "I come bearing gifts," he says.

"Did you knock over a liquor store?" Brendon asks, grinning.

"Circle K," Spencer tells him.

They each take a bottle and sit on Brendon's ratty brown plaid couch and drink and watch TV. Brendon works on his pre-calc homework, too, sometimes ignoring entire stretches of the show as he concentrates on solving the problems.

When Spencer realized that Brendon was suddenly serious about school, was actually determined to get good grades in all his classes, he'd been surprised. He doesn't know why. When he thinks about it, it makes total sense that Brendon wants to prove that not believing in God doesn't make him a failure.

Spencer's over school. They haven't even been back for a month, but he's over it. He doesn't care anymore. He figures he can probably coast by through graduation on a combination of luck and all of Ryan's old notes from when he'd been a senior.

When Brendon's phone beeps, he picks it up and looks at the screen, then snorts.

"What?" Spencer asks.

Brendon shows him the text. _make sure you pay special attention to "I am alone in this bed house and head" you really have to put emotion into it._

Spencer doesn't even have to ask who the text is from. "So I'm guessing Ryan doesn't think you put enough emotion into that line the seventy-five times he made you sing it yesterday."

Brendon looks around his tiny apartment and says, "I'm guessing he doesn't think I know what it's like to be alone." He ducks his head suddenly and sets his pre-calc book on the table. "So," he says, getting up and heading into the kitchen. "Do you want another beer?"

"Hard cider," Spencer says.

"Whatever."

"No, I'm good. I mostly just brought them over for you."

"Thanks." Brendon opens his fridge but doesn't take anything out of it. He closes the refrigerator door and says, "What do you want for your birthday?"

"Charlie's Angels complete box set."

Brendon laughs and props himself up on the counter, feet dangling and banging against the cupboard. "No. Seriously."

"Nothing," says Spencer. He knows Brendon's money situation is tight, knows he spent most of his Mission savings on down payments for his apartment and his car.

"It's your birthday," Brendon tells him. "You have to want something. It's a law."

"I'm a rebel, Dottie."

Brendon snorts. "Fine. I'm getting you Pee-Wee's Big Adventure on VHS."

"Awesome," Spencer tells him. "Wait, don't you actually own Pee-Wee's Big Adventure on VHS?"

"Of course I do. I have Pee-Wee Herman's entire oeuvre."

"Oeuvre." Spencer says, and he thinks it sounds hilarious. He doesn't know if he's drunk off one bottle of cider, but he might be.

"Some of us pay attention in English," Brendon says.

"Put in the movie," Spencer tells him.

Brendon grins and digs through his crates for Pee-Wee's Big Adventure.

That night, once Spencer's home and in the shower, the guilt comes back. His hands shake a little bit as he washes his hair, and he soaps up his body as quickly as he can. He doesn't want to think about how he got the bruises on his ribs and hips and shoulders, doesn't want to think about how's he's the kind of person who meets strangers in hotel rooms for anonymous sex.

Seven times. He tells himself that seven times isn't a lot. Seven times, and one didn't even count because he hadn't even gotten to come, had just laid there while some guy had sucked on his toes for, like, two hours. Of course, he'd gotten sixty bucks out of the deal since the guy had offered to pay Spencer for his sweaty socks. But it didn't count as sex because nobody even touched anybody's dick. So, six times. Six times isn't a lot. He's not broken or anything just because he's had sex with six random guys.

He rests his head against the tile wall and closes his eyes as the hot water runs over him. He's not going to do it again. It's stupid and it's dangerous and he'd die of shame if anybody ever found out.

He thinks about the brave face Brendon always puts on when Spencer leaves his apartment, like he doesn't mind living by himself. He thinks about Ryan living in a house with a father who's always either actually gone or so drunk he might as well not be there at all. Spencer's not the only person who's alone, and he's less alone than most people he knows. At least he still has his family. So he can be alone and survive, he can live with it the way everybody else does. He'll be fine.

***********

Spencer is fine. He goes to school and band practice, he takes care of his sisters and rolls his eyes behind his parents' backs when they're being weird. He goes through seven pairs of drumsticks in three days. He mostly pays attention in his classes and actually does his homework. He's fine.

"Did you boys decide where you want to go for your birthday, yet?" Spencer's mother asks him one night after dinner as he helps her with the dishes. She rinses them off in the sink and Spencer loads them into the dishwasher.

"Del Taco," Spencer says.

His mother rolls her eyes. "Actual food, Spencer. You and Ryan can eat as much Del Taco as you want when I don't have to come along and eat it, too. If you really want Mexican food, we can go to El Burrito."

"You can totally feed Ryan and I two weeks worth of Del Taco for what one family dinner at El Burrito will cost us."

"We are going to have a nice family dinner for your birthday, and that's final."

Spencer grins at her. "Okay, okay, twist my arm. Oh, wait, do they have vegetarian food there?"

His mother raises her eyebrows. "You're a vegetarian, now? Because I'm pretty sure you just had two helpings of meatloaf."

"No. Brendon. Brendon's a vegetarian, and he's too nice to complain if all he can eat is rice and chips and salsa, but still. We should make sure there's actual food there he can eat. He mostly lives on smoothies, and that much fruit isn't good for anyone."

His mother's mouth goes tight, but she says, "I'll call them tomorrow to check."

Spencer sighs. "You don't want him to go?"

"I didn't say that."

"Because he's my friend. And it's my birthday. And I think I should be able to invite who I want to my freaking birthday party."

"Spencer," she says, shaking her head. She reaches up and smoothes his hair down, puts her hands on his shoulders. She looks up at him for a long time, then hugs him close. "Oh, honey, of course Brendon's coming. I wasn't upset about that. You know how much your father and I love you, right?"

Spencer says, "Of course." He hugs her back out of habit, even though she's being totally weird.

She squeezes him tight before she lets him go. "Go finish your homework," she says, and she looks like she might start to cry. Spencer nods and heads upstairs and wonders if his mother has always been weird and he's just never noticed before.

The next afternoon before band practice, Spencer's mother gives him bags of groceries to take with him and an uncooked veggie potpie covered in plastic wrap with the instructions, "Cook at 375 for 40 minutes, let cool 10 minutes before eating or you'll burn your mouth! Love, Ginger," taped to the top, and Spencer understands.

"I have so much food for you in my car, dude," Spencer says as Brendon wraps his guitar cord around his arm after practice.

"Food or beer?" Brendon asks softly, cutting a glance at Ryan, who's engrossed in whatever text he's sending.

"Food," says Spencer. "So much food."

"Are we going to get food?" Ryan asks, looking up from his phone.

"No," Spencer says. "I have food. Like bags and bags of it. You're coming over to Brendon's and helping me carry it up the stairs."

Ryan sighs wearily.

"You're helping or you're not eating," says Spencer.

Ryan sighs again and says, "Fine."

Ryan carries one of the lightest bags up to Brendon's apartment, then gets a text from Kaitlyn and says, "Um, I need to go."

"Asshole," Spencer calls after him. "Whatever happened to bros before hos?"

"I'd totally desert you for a ho," Brendon tells Spencer earnestly. He looks suddenly forlorn. "Everybody gets sex but me. Oh, and you, I guess. Everybody gets sex but us."

"We've got a lot of food," Spencer tells him.

"Food doesn't make me come," Brendon says with a sigh. "Well, except for key lime pie. That kind of makes me jizz a little bit just thinking about it." As he follows Spencer down the stairs, he says, "I don't actually believe in God, but I think he might be punishing me because I totally lied when I took my chastity pledge."

"You took a chastity pledge?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah. It was this thing we did at church and, you know. Everybody did it. Anyway, when I was filling it out I was totally thinking that I could probably actually stay a virgin until I got married as long as I got blowjobs, and everybody knows that blowjobs don't actually count as sex, so, yeah. If God exists, he's going to punish me with eternal virginity for lying when I took my chastity pledge."

"Blowjobs count," Spencer tells him as they load up with the last of the bags from the car.

"They do not," Brendon tells him. "Man, how much extra food did your mom have in her pantry, anyway?"

"Tons," Spencer says. "They totally count."

"And I thought Mormons horded food, jeez."

"If there's any contact whatsoever, even eye contact, and one or both of you comes, it counts as sex," Spencer tells him.

"Wait, no," says Brendon. "Because if that was true, if you snuck into some girl's room at night and touched her boobs and came in your shorts, that would count as sex. That doesn't seem right."

"I think it counts as rape," Spencer tells him.

Brendon thinks about that for a minute, then nods. "Fair point. But, okay, if you jerk off in a room where there's another guy jerking off and you don't look at each other, then it's not sex, but if you make eye contact, then you just fucked a dude?"

"Exactly," Spencer says. He puts the veggie potpie in the fridge and starts unpacking boxes of pasta and jars of tomato sauce.

"That's fucked up. Wait, what if you're fucking some girl and then, I don't know, a bomb goes off and you lose your hard on and neither one of you comes. Does that count as sex?"

"Yes, because the 'if anybody comes' rule is only a partial definition of sex. Anything inserted with sexual intent into any orifice also counts as sex."

Brendon reaches out and sticks his finger in Spencer's ear. "So you're telling me I'm not a virgin anymore?"

Spencer laughs and bats Brendon's hand away. "With sexual intent. If it gets you off to stick your fingers in people's ears, then that's sex for you. If not, then you're just a weirdo who sticks his dirty fingers in people's ears."

"This doesn't sound like you," Brendon tells him. "This sounds like Ryan."

"Oh, they're totally Ryan's rules. I agree with them, but he's the one who wrote them down."

"He wrote them down?"

"He went through, like, four revisions."

"Of course he did. Oooh, sweet, Mac and Cheese. Are you sure your mom doesn't want this? The box isn't even dented."

"I just do what I'm told," Spencer says. "And she told me to bring you all this food."

Brendon looks at the Mac and Cheese box, over to the brand new boxes of cereal, over to the cans of black beans. Spencer can see that he's realizing that the food isn't stuff Spencer's mom had wanted to get rid of at all, can see Brendon realizing that she'd actually gone and bought tons of groceries just for him.

Spencer clears his throat and says, "You took Friday night off work, right?"

"Yeah. I still can't believe Ryan's willing to give up one of his precious Friday nights alone with Kaitlyn, though."

"Oh, she'll be there and it'll be gross. They'll probably hold hands the whole time."

"At practice?"

"No. At dinner. We're having our birthday party Friday night. I know I told you that."

"I thought that was a family thing."

"Yeah," Spencer says.

"I don't want to intrude."

"My mom already called the restaurant to make sure they had vegetarian entrees for you to choose from, dude. You're kind of locked in."

Brendon's eyes go suddenly shiny and bright and he starts to blink. Then he says, "Okay, even weirder than Ryan's rules of sex is why I've been home this long and I'm still wearing pants."

As Brendon starts unbuttoning his jeans, Spencer turns and starts putting the food in Brendon's cupboards. Brendon's practically a nudist and he wears as little as he can as often as he can. It's kind of uncomfortable seeing as the revelation of Brendon's dislike of clothes came about around the same time as Spencer's realization that he found Brendon really attractive.

So, yeah, okay, he thinks Brendon's hot and Brendon's totally comfortable stripping down to his briefs and walking around half naked in front of everybody, fine. Spencer's still not going to look. He's not a total creeper.

"Ahhhh," Brendon says loudly. "Seriously, Spence, I don't know how you can stand to wear your jeans that tight."

"They're not that tight," Spencer says. He's not Ryan or anything.

"Your little dudes need to swing free," Brendon tells him. "It's way more natural than bundling everything up."

"My little dudes are fine," Spencer tells him.

Brendon comes back into the kitchen wearing baggy basketball shorts and a thin, worn t-shirt. "Tonight," he says, "we feast. You'll totally stay for dinner, right?"

It's nine o'clock at night, but Spencer says, "Yeah. Sure."

They eat spaghetti with spicy tomato and basil sauce, and Brendon works on his history homework while he eats. Spencer picks up a copy of _The Awakening_ and thumbs through it.

"Dude," says Brendon through a mouthful of spaghetti, "if you actually read that will you tell me what it's about? I have to write a paper on it by next Friday."

"I've read it," Spencer says. "It's actually pretty good. I could give you a copy of the paper I wrote on it last year."

Brendon drops his fork and says, "Don't tease me. That class has so much reading, it's killing me."

"I've probably got a copy of Ryan's paper, too. I'll bring them to practice tomorrow."

"You are my favorite person in the entire world, Spencer Smith."

Spencer tries not to, but he smiles.

**********

"But, no," says Brendon as they wait for their food to arrive. "She dies in the end. That's total bulls--" He cuts a glance at Spencer's sisters sitting just down the table from him. "Total bullcrap. Any story where the hero dies in the end is total bullcrap."

"It's powerful," Ryan tells him. "Edna exercises the ultimate power at the end by choosing to take her own life."

"That's not powerful," says Brendon. "It's bullcrap. She should have taken off for New Orleans and started a new life as, like, a lounge singer."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Lounge singers didn't exist in the 1800s."

"You know what I mean. How is death powerful? Death sucks."

"I thought it sucked, too," says Kaitlyn.

Spencer grins as Ryan frowns.

Spencer's mother clears her throat and looks pointedly at Spencer. "Wouldn't it be nice if somebody else was so passionate about literature, Mister On Academic Probation?"

"You're on academic probation in the first month?" Ryan asks, horrified.

"I'm not on academic probation," Spencer says. "I was on academic probation last year, and I'm not anymore, and I won't be again. I'm doing great in school."

"That's what you said last year," Spencer's mother says. "And then we had to go to three separate parent-teacher conferences about how you're not applying yourself."

"It's my birthday," Spencer says. "You can't guilt me about school on my birthday."

"Your birthday was yesterday," his mother says.

Spencer can totally see his father and Ryan exchanging smirks. He decides that he hates both of them.

"Study session," says Brendon. "Tomorrow. I don't work until six. You're coming over and we're studying all day."

"Oh, God," says Spencer.

"That's a fantastic idea," Spencer's mother says.

"No," Spencer says. "I can't. I have chores."

"You really don't," his father says. His father is totally a traitor.

"Brendon goes to school, works nearly full time, goes to band practice, and gets good grades," says Spencer's mother. She smiles at Brendon. "You're a good influence."

Ryan snorts and tries to make it sound like he was just coughing.

Spencer says, "Oh, look, food's here. Awesome. Let's talk about food, now."

After dinner, Spencer's sisters aren't even all the way in the car before they start arguing over who's hotter, Ryan or Brendon. Spencer rolls his eyes.

"She's a total skank," says one of his sister. "Spencer, don't you think Kaitlyn's a skank?"

Spencer does think Kaitlyn's a skank, but there's such a thing as loyalty, so he says, "No. She's actually really cool. Where's Mom?"

"Probably ran into somebody and started chatting," says his father.

His other sister says, "Brendon has the nicest butt ever."

Spencer says, "I'll go find Mom."

He gets out of the car and is halfway across the parking lot when he hears his mother's voice. "Oh, it was just some odds and ends I had lying around," she says.

Brendon's voice is clear in the still night air. "No," he says. "It wasn't. And thank you. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it. That it means...it means a lot." He tips his head down, and as Spencer gets closer he sees that Brendon looks close to tears.

"Oh, sweetheart," says Spencer's mother. She reaches up and smoothes down Brendon's hair the exact same way she always smoothes down Spencer's. She puts her hands on his shoulders, then moves in for a hug, and Brendon hugs her back tightly. "You're a really good kid, Brendon," she says. "I know things suck for you right now, but they won't always. Your parents will come around."

Brendon says, "I don't think they will."

"They will," Spencer's mother says, and she sounds so sure that even Spencer believes it. Spencer takes a careful step back, then another, then he turns and heads back to the car. He says, "She'll be here in a little bit. And for the love of God, Dad, why did you let them choose the music? Britney Spears? Really?"

"Toxic is catchy," says his father.

"I don't even know how I'm related to you."

Spencer gets to Brendon's the next day at ten o'clock in the morning, which is totally early for a Saturday. He expects Brendon to be studying, but instead Brendon's kitchen table is covered with bills.

"What's going on?" Spencer asks.

Brendon hands him a letter printed on pink stationary. The particular shade of pink seems angry to Spencer somehow. The letter's an eviction notice.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Spencer asks. "I thought you had money saved up to go on your Mission."

"Not that much," Brendon says. "I spent a lot of it, and I cracked my tooth last month; getting it fixed cleaned me out. I always knew I wasn't actually going to go, so I took money out of the account all the time to buy stupid shit. There's a hobo on Paradise who'll buy you porn if you give him ten bucks, so."

"You spent your rent money on porn?"

"I didn't know I'd need it for rent at the time."

"You couldn't just watch porn online like a normal person?"

"Have you met my parents? You know the only computer in my house was in the den with the screen facing the kitchen so anybody walking by it could see everything."

Spencer sighs and sits down at the kitchen table. Brendon's laptop is actually an old one of Ryan's with a wonky screen that always seems on the verge of falling off.

"I can probably get forty bucks for my guitar at the pawn shop," Brendon says. "I'm going to head down there now."

"You can't sell your fucking guitar," Spencer snaps.

"I have two. I'll sell my acoustic. Ryan has one, too, if I ever need it for the band. And, I don't know. I guess my TV? The good one. I don't think anybody wants that little black and white."

Spencer sighs. He wants to argue, but telling Brendon not to sell his stuff won't keep him from getting kicked out of his apartment. Spencer helps Brendon carry his stuff out to the car, his TV and his acoustic guitar and his stereo. While Brendon heads off to the pawnshop, Spencer goes back upstairs and reads the eviction notice again. They're giving Brendon until the 15th to come up with the money, which gives them almost two weeks. Spencer's sure they can come up with the money in two weeks.

He sits down and goes through Brendon's bills, which are surprisingly organized. His eyes widen as he looks at the dentist bill. He had no idea getting a tooth fixed could cost nearly a thousand dollars. He checks and rechecks Brendon's math, and is disappointed when he finds out that Brendon's right. He owes his apartment complex five hundred dollars and he's only got thirty dollars in the bank.

"When do you get paid?" is the first thing Spencer asks when Brendon gets back nearly an hour later.

"Two weeks. On the seventeenth."

"Fuck," says Spencer. "I think I've got a couple of hundred dollars in my savings account."

"Spencer, no."

"Yes," says Spencer. "You're not getting evicted. You can't live in your fucking car, okay?"

"I can sell my car."

"Then how are you going to get to school? To work? Anywhere?"

"People take the bus all the time."

"Yeah, and it takes them _hours_. You don't have hours to get places, Brendon."

Brendon sighs and drops eighty bucks on the kitchen table. "Fine. Asshole. I'll pay you back. Things should be better next month. I mean, I'm assuming I won't need any more emergency medical care or anything. I will pay you back, I promise."

"I know," Spencer says. He doesn't care if Brendon pays him back or not, but he wants Brendon to be able to keep his pride.

With Spencer's money and the money Brendon got at the pawnshop, they're short 187 dollars.

“Dude,” says Brendon. “Fuck. I’m so broke.”

Spencer looks at Brendon’s feet and wrinkles his nose. “Your socks are pretty rank, dude. You could probably sell them.”

Brendon rolls his eyes. “Not even the skankiest thrift store in Vegas is going to pay me for my old socks.”

“Not a store,” says Spencer. “Just, you know.”

Brendon shakes his head. He clearly doesn’t know.

Spencer wishes he hadn’t said anything, but it’s too late to take it back. “Like, a guy. A pervy guy. Who wants to smell them when he jerks off or whatever.”

Brendon laughs and rolls his eyes again. “Oh, yeah, like some guy’d really pay for used fucking socks.”

“Actually,” Spencer says. “I kind of...know a guy.”

Brendon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you offering to pay me for my used socks? Because we’re friends, and if that’s your thing, well, I don’t know. I guess you can just have one?”

Spencer punches Brendon in the arm. “Not me, asshole. And not anybody you know. Just, there’s this guy and he wanted to buy my socks so, um, I sold them to him.”

“A guy at school?” Brendon asks.

“No. Just. I was at the mall.” Spencer tries not to wince at the stupid lie. “And this guy offered me sixty bucks for my socks, so.” He shrugs.

“Some strange dude at the mall walked up to you and said he wanted to buy your socks so he could jerk off while sniffing them,” Brendon says.

“He didn’t tell me what he wanted them for. I’m just assuming that he was going to jerk off with them.”

“And you sold them to him.”

“Well,” says Spencer. “Yeah? I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. All I’m saying is that there are guys who want shit like that, so, you know, if you’re short on cash you could probably put an ad up online. Say you’re a broke college student trying to make ends meet or whatever.”

Brendon looks down at his feet. He says, “Huh. Wait, are you fucking with me?”

“I kind of wish I was.”

“Dude,” says Brendon. “Take a picture of my feet. We’re totally putting these socks up on eBay. Or, um, is that how people sell their used socks?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “Um. Maybe Craigslist?”

**********

A week later, Brendon's insisted on another study session. Spencer doesn't know why. He's starting to accept that he's just going to end up on academic probation. He doesn't know why Brendon cares more about Spencer's grades than Spencer does.

He's reading about the Franco-Prussian war, and he hates it. He hates everyone involved in it. The only good thing about the Franco-Prussian war is that everyone who was alive at the time of it is dead.

Brendon's on his laptop and he makes a startled sound, so Spencer looks up.

“This guy is offering me a hundred bucks for my socks,” Brendon says.

“Awesome,” says Spencer.

“He’s offering me a hundred bucks for my socks if I jerk off on them, first.”

Spencer can’t help it. He laughs.

“Dude. It’s not funny. I can’t sell my jizz. Socks are weird enough, but bodily fluids? I’d feel like a hooker. I’m totally not getting any takers on my socks. How the fuck am I supposed to come up with two hundred dollars by the fifteenth? Can I live with you when I get evicted?”

“You’re not getting evicted,” Spencer tells him.

“Do you have two hundred more dollars stashed away somewhere?"

Spencer doesn’t. He says, “I’ll call that guy. The one from, um, the mall.”

“You’ve had his number this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to use it if I didn't have to," Spencer says. "He's kind of creepy."

"How creepy?"

"Creepy enough to buy used socks from teenage boys to jerk off with."

"Good point."

Spencer takes out his phone and looks at it for a while. He thinks about asking his parents to let Brendon stay with them, but he knows it's impossible. Brendon could sleep on his floor for a while, but they don't have enough room for anything permanent. He finds the number, takes another breath, and dials.

"Josh speaking," says the guy on the other end of the line.

"Hey, um, Josh?" Spencer says. "This is Paul."

Brendon frowns and mouths, "Paul?" Spencer waves him away.

"From, um, I don't know if you remember, but--"

"I remember," Josh says, and his voice has dropped half an octave. "How are you?"

"Good," says Spencer. "And you?"

"Thinking about the arch of your foot," Josh tells him. "The way you tensed up every time I ran my tongue over it."

Spencer grimaces and says, "Yeah. I remember."

"You looking for some fun today?"

"Oh, um. I actually just. I have these socks."

"What do they look like?"

Spencer looks at Brendon's feet and says. "They're white. With, um, gray on the toes and the heels."

"You been wearing 'em long?" Josh asks.

"Like, a super long time. There's a hole in one of the toes, and the heels are pretty threadbare."

"Mmm," says Josh. "Can you smell 'em even when they're on your feet?"

Brendon's feet sweat a lot, and Spencer can always kind of smell his socks, so he says, "Yeah. They're pretty rank."

Brendon flips him the bird, and Spencer waves him away again.

"Mmm," says Josh again.

Spencer covers the mouthpiece and whispers, "I think he's jerking off."

"Hang up, hang up, hang up," Brendon says through clenched teeth.

Spencer turns away from him and says. "I just, um, wanted to know if you wanted them. My socks. I know you said you were always looking for new pairs. Or old pairs. New to you. Are you maybe interested in buying them?"

"Always," says Josh. "Sixty bucks if they're sweet like the ones you were wearing last time. More if they're really stinky."

"They're really stinky," Spencer says.

"Mmm," says Josh, and Spencer's positive that he's jerking off. "You put some of your sweet man juices all over them, I pay even more."

Spencer bites his lower lip. Man juices? He can't believe he ever had not-sex with somebody who'd say man juices.

"I can do that," Spencer says. "Um. Two hundred? Is that, is that a fair price?"

"You meet me by the Starbucks on Charleston in half an hour," Josh tells him. "I'll pay you cash."

"Okay," says Spencer. "Okay, good, see you then." He hangs up and drops the phone onto the couch. "Holy shit," he says.

"He agreed to two hundred dollars?"

Spencer nods.

Brendon says, "Holy shit."

"Give me your socks," Spencer says.

Brendon looks down at his feet. "These?"

"They're the ones I described to him over the phone, so they have to be those. Give them to me. And do you have a Ziploc bag?"

Brendon takes his socks off, then goes to the kitchen and looks through his cabinets. "I have a plastic bag from the store," he says.

"That'll do."

Brendon puts the socks into the plastic bag. "Okay. Now what?"

"Give them to me."

Brendon hands him the bag. "I don't think you should go alone." When Spencer heads away from the front door, he says, "Wait. You're not going to take them to him?"

"I am," says Spencer, and walks into Brendon's bathroom and locks the door behind himself. He takes a deep breath, then another. He closes his eyes and thinks about the time he woke up in the middle of the night to Ryan jerking off not two feet away from him. He thinks about the second guy he ever had sex with, thinks about how the guy had spent an entire, amazing Sunday teaching Spencer everything he wanted to know. He thinks about Brendon, about porn he's seen, about things he's only ever imagined. He unzips his fly and starts to stroke himself and he's never been the type to buckle under pressure, so it doesn't take him long before it's done.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Brendon's sitting stock still on the couch. Without looking over at Spencer he says, "Did you just jizz all over my socks?"

Spencer chews on his lower lip. "Maybe."

Brendon nods and takes a deep breath. "All right. So. Where are we meeting this guy?"

"We're not doing anything," Spencer says. "I'm meeting him in the parking lot by the Starbucks on Charleston."

"Dude, that's the plaza where I work," Brendon says mournfully.

"I didn't pick the location, okay? So, I'll just. I'll be back."

"You're not going alone," Brendon says, jumping off the couch and following Spencer out the front door. "You are most definitely not going alone to meet up with a guy who just walked up to you in a mall and offered you money for your dirty socks."

"Brendon."

"I'm serious. He could shove you into a van and, like, cut off your feet and taxidermy them for his collection. And if you don't have feet, I'm not sure how you'll work your kick drum or your hi-hat. We could probably rig something up to your knees, but I'd really rather not have to do that. So I'm coming."

Spencer nods and says. "Fine."

They listen to the radio on the way there, and Brendon rambles on about some weird girl in his US History class that he's strangely attracted to and a little afraid of at the same time, but Spencer just nods and hmms in the right places, not really listening.

He remembers the dark blue truck that had been parked in Josh's driveway, sees it as he's looking for a spot. He drives past it and parks six spots away.

"That's his truck," says Spencer. "Stay here."

"Okay. But if he wants to do weird sex stuff with your feet, tell him you can't because your boyfriend's waiting in the car."

"My boyfriend?" Spencer asks.

"Your impulsively violent boyfriend who will rain fire and hell down upon anybody who hurts you."

Spencer rolls his eyes and gets out of the car and walks towards Josh's truck. Josh gets out of the truck and smiles and says, "Hey, Paul. Good to see you." He holds his hand out, and Spencer shakes it without thinking. He feels crisp paper tucked into his palm, and he looks quickly at two hundred dollar bills before he tucks them in his pocket. Spencer hands him the plastic bag and is about to turn when Josh says. "So, um. You interested in a little fun?"

"Oh," Spencer says, looking over his shoulder at where Brendon is totally not staying in the car. Brendon is already out of the car and watching him. He looks back at Josh, anxious to conclude their business as fast as he can. "I can't. I have a boyfriend, now, so. You know."

Josh grins at Spencer, then looks over Spencer's shoulder and grins wider. Spencer closes his eyes, knows Brendon's coming up behind him without even having to look. "Lucky man," Josh says to Brendon.

"Yeah," says Brendon, and he comes to stand beside Spencer, puts his hand in the small of Spencer's back.

Then Josh steps forward, tips his head down so his mouth is close to Spencer’s ear, and he whispers, “Is he as hot in bed as you are? You should both come over. You still know where I live, right? I'll make it worth your while.”

Brendon’s eyes are huge. Spencer’s never seen anybody’s eyes so wide.

Spencer says, “We can’t. I’ll text you.” He grabs Brendon by the wrist and pulls him towards the car.

Neither one of them says anything. Spencer gets in the car and drives. The radio’s playing some stupid Top 40 bullshit, but neither one of them even complains. Spencer wonders vaguely if he’s okay to drive. He feels a little bit like he’s floating outside of his body. But he seems to be driving okay, driving on autopilot to Brendon’s apartment. He pulls into a parking spot and he can’t remember anything about the drive, can’t even remember turning into the parking lot and, well, maybe he shouldn’t have been driving after all.

Brendon’s hands are resting in his lap, and he’s staring down at them.

Spencer takes a deep breath. "I told you to stay in the car."

“Are you a hooker?” Brendon asks him. “Or, not, like. I know hooker’s not the right word. Escort? Is that what you call it? Like...being an escort?”

“Jesus,” says Spencer.

Brendon shoves his fingers through his hair and when Spencer looks over, he can see that Brendon's frustrated and upset.

“I’m not a hooker,” Spencer tells him. “Or an escort. Or anything else you want to call it. Yeah, fine, I sold him my fucking socks, but that’s not. I didn’t sell him anything else. The other stuff, I do it for free.”

“Sex stuff,” says Brendon.

“You don’t have to call it stuff,” says Spencer. “It’s just. It’s sex. You can just call it sex.”

“Why?” Brendon asks. “Why did you do it? Why would you have sex with that guy?”

“I don’t have it easy like you,” Spencer snaps. “You can just fucking ask a girl out if you’re interested. You can just ask any girl you want out, and maybe she’ll say no, but it’s not like what would happen if I did that. If I just walked up to a guy and asked him out? That would be, like, suicide. So how am I supposed to meet somebody? How am I supposed to know who I’m allowed to be interested in? Who won’t beat my fucking face into the ground?”

Brendon pulls himself tighter and smaller as Spencer speaks. He’s got his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs and he rests his cheek on his knees, looking at Spencer. He says, “I didn’t know.”

Spencer sighs. He says, “I know. I didn’t want you to know. I’m really good at keeping it a secret.”

“So some guy comes up to you in the mall and you just go home with him?”

“I met him on Craigslist,” Spencer tells him. “It’s not like I’ve slept with a lot of guys, but all of them. I met them all on Craigslist. I don’t know how else...there’s not really any other way.”

“Doesn’t your school have a GSA?”

“Does my Catholic school have a GSA? No. No, it doesn’t.”

“Oh,” says Brendon. “I guess I didn’t think about that. But there’s, like. There are other groups, right? Like, I don’t know. Youth groups?”

Spencer shrugs. “Probably. But where am I going to find the time to go?”

Brendon presses his forehead against his knees. “You can’t just, God, Spencer. You can’t just meet random perverts online and then go fuck them.”

“Don’t you fucking judge me.”

“I’m not. I’m worried about you.”

“Why? Nothing’s changed from before, and you weren’t worried about me this morning.”

“This morning I didn’t know that you agree to meet serial killers on a regular basis.”

“They’re not serial killers.”

“How do you know? How do you know one of them isn’t going to be like some crazy nut job who wants to wear your skin suit? I couldn’t fucking handle that, Spence. If some guy hurt you?” He sits up straight and looks over at Spencer. “I don’t give a shit that you’re gay, and fuck you if you thought I would. What I do give a shit about is you staying alive. I give a shit about you not getting your face bashed in by some violent closet case, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer whispers, because he believes it.

“Can’t you just...not? I mean, I understand sexual frustration. Believe me, I do. And one day I’ll get a girl to actually touch my dick and it’ll be awesome, but until then I just watch porn and jerk off a lot. Can’t you just do that?”

Spencer thinks, _But I’m so fucking lonely_. He doesn’t say it. He says, “Most of the guys weren’t creeps, but a couple were, so, yeah. Okay. I already decided I'm not going to do that anymore.”

“Captain McJizzSocks back there was one hell of a creep,” Brendon says.

Spencer shrugs. “He wasn’t so bad. He just, you know. Spent a really long time sucking on my toes.”

Brendon’s laugh is loud and braying in the confines of Spencer’s car. “What? Seriously?”

“He paid me for my socks, Brendon. You’re surprised that he got off by sucking on my toes?”

“Did you? I mean, not that you have to tell me what gets you off. Only. Is stuff like that good?”

“It just kind of tickled,” Spencer admits. “And by the time he was done, I wasn’t even hard anymore. I was just like, ‘Well, that was fun, see you.’ And that’s when he offered me money for my socks. I guess I figured I might as well get something out of it, since I wasn’t getting an orgasm.”

“He totally said you were hot in bed. I heard him say that.”

“Well, he enjoyed it.”

Brendon runs his fingers through his hair again, making it stick up in clumps. "This is officially the weirdest day of my life. Before, I'd say that the weirdest day of my life was when I got busted for smoking pot and listening to jazz in the football stadium freshman year, but this tops that by, like, a billion."

"You smoked pot in a football stadium?" Spencer asks.

"That's not the point of this conversation. The point of this conversation is that our lives are really fucking weird right now. Also, I want you to make me chili. You cook it better than I do."

"Fine," Spencer says, and he follows Brendon upstairs. He makes thick vegetarian chili and they eat it with tortilla chips crushed over the top while watching reruns of M*A*S*H on the 10-inch black and white TV that had come with the apartment.

After the chili's gone, Brendon says, "You're still going to crash here tonight, right?"

"You won't mind?" Spencer asks. He still can't quite believe that Brendon wants anything to do with him, knowing what he knows.

"I don't mind, asshole. I never mind."

"Okay," says Spencer, and he and Brendon tug the cushions off the couch to make him a mattress.

Spencer's almost asleep when Brendon asks, "But what do you do?"

Spencer sighs, since he knows what Brendon means even without context clues. He says, “Brendon, you have the internet. You can Google it.”

“But that’s not, like. I never get to talk about this stuff. I never get to talk about sex with people who have actually had it.”

“It’s not like I know everything. It’s not like I’m an expert. I’ve only slept with seven guys.”

“That’s a lot,” Brendon says. Then he says, “I’m not calling you slutty. I’m just saying, that’s more than average. How many girls has Ryan slept with?”

“Two.”

“See? And Brent’s only ever slept with Nina. And I’ve never slept with anybody. You’re way ahead of the curve.”

“I’ve had sex seven times,” Spencer tells him. “Ryan’s had sex more than seven times in one day. I don’t think I’m even close to the curve, let alone ahead of it.”

“In one day?” Brendon asks. “Never mind. But you just, what? Sleep with a guy one time and never see him again?”

“That’s how it works,” Spencer says.

“That’s really shitty. Don’t you think that’s shitty?”

“Fuck you,” Spencer grumbles, turning onto his side and facing the wall.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean shitty as in wrong or anything. It’s just. Kind of sad. Don’t you think it's sad?"

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut tight and he doesn’t say anything, because he knows if he tries to speak, he’ll cry.

He's almost asleep again when Brendon starts to laugh. Spencer tries to ignore it.

"Spencer," Brendon says through giggles. "Spencer, hey, are you awake?"

"No," Spencer says.

"You just sold your jizz on my old socks to some pervert so I could pay my rent. That's, like, friendship right there. I mean, fuck greeting cards or remembering birthdays or whatever. If you really want to test a fucking friendship, see if your buddy will jizz on a pair of your socks so you don't get evicted."

Spencer starts to laugh.

"And I was kind of in shock a little bit, so I'm not sure, but I think, maybe. I think he maybe offered to pay us for a threesome?"

"He did," Spencer says. It shouldn't be funny, but he can't stop laughing.

"Is this a slippery slope? Did we just start down a very slippery slope of sexual commerce? Are we going to be hookers by this time next year?"

"Escorts," says Spencer, and he and Brendon both laugh until they can't breathe.

**********

Money's not so tight for Brendon after that. It's still tight, but he makes just enough to cover his bills. If he has to get another tooth fixed, if he ever sprains his ankle or gets in a car accident or needs antibiotics, he's going to be fucked, but for the time being he's okay.

Spencer thinks about it a lot, thinks about how Brendon knows his secrets and doesn't seem to care. Sometimes he thinks about telling Ryan. He wouldn't tell him about the sex, just about being gay. Sometimes he's convinced he's going to do it, but he never does. It feels kind of like a betrayal, entrusting knowledge to Brendon instead of Ryan. He thinks that he should always tell Ryan everything first. He's always told Ryan everything first, his whole life, but he still doesn't say anything.

They're coming up on Thanksgiving break, and Spencer's so fucking excited to spend a week out of school. He's managed to stay off academic probation, thanks mostly to Ryan's extensive notes and Brendon's insistence that they study together at least twice a week.

Spencer gives up on his physics homework. He is never, ever going to care about vectors, and vectors aren't going to get him a record contract. He stretches out on Brendon's couch and opens his laptop and just starts surfing mindlessly.

It's not like he's actually looking for anything. He thinks maybe he really meant it before when he promised himself he wouldn't hook up with another stranger. So he's not actually looking, but he's curious. He misses it. He misses the feel of another person's body against his.

He reads the missed connections, first, because they're always funny. Then he pretends he cares about the stuff people are giving away for free. Then he clicks on the men for men personals. He can feel his heart start to beat a little faster, can feel the tingle of anticipation. He's not going to do anything, but that doesn't mean he can't see what's out there.

He's so focused on acting casual that he doesn't notice Brendon coming up behind him.

"Are you...?" Brendon asks, dipping his head down to look at the computer screen. "Are you trawling for sex, like, right now?"

"No," says Spencer, but it's obvious that he is. Sure, Brendon's never looked at the m4m personals on Craigslist before, but it's not like anybody has to have any prior experience to understand what the headline, _want to suck a cock before 7pm tonight,_ means. He says, "I'm just...browsing."

Brendon sits down next to him and takes the laptop. He scrolls halfway down the page, then clicks on, _looking to suck and rim guys 18 to 36_. His eyes widen as he reads the ad, as he scrolls down to see the picture beneath it.

"That's a picture of a cock," he says.

"Duh," says Spencer. He's trying really hard not to be embarrassed.

"Guys just...just post pictures of their cocks online?"

"Have you never used a computer before? How do you not know this?"

"No, I mean, yeah, I know that guys post pictures of their cocks. Just. Do you? I mean, do you send dudes pictures of your junk?"

Spencer shifts uncomfortably on the couch. He says, "Maybe."

"Maybe," Brendon says. "Right." He goes back to the main page, scrolls down and clicks another link. "Okay," he says. "Okay, I totally get letting a guy go down on you. Like, anybody would do that, right? But what do you do if he wants you to return the favor?"

"Me personally, or in general?"

"You," Brendon says. "What do you do if it turns out a guy wants you to blow him?"

"I blow him," Spencer says.

Brendon goes still.

"I like doing it," Spencer says, and something in his chest eases as he hears himself say it out loud. "I like a lot of things."

Brendon licks his lips and nods. He says, "So, like, if you were going to pick an ad to respond to, which one would you pick?"

Spencer says, "Brendon."

"Seriously."

Spencer sighs and scrolls through the list. He clicks on, _horny top 38 looking for young hungry bottom 18-25_.

"You like older guys?" Brendon asks.

"Not because they're older," Spencer says. "Just. I don't know. They know what they're doing, and I don't, not really, so." He shrugs. "If I'm just upfront about not having much experience and wanting them to teach me, they're usually cool with that."

"And you, you're a bottom?"

Spencer feels himself flush. He says, "I've never tried it the other way. But it's good. Being the bottom is really good."

Brendon says, "If you, I mean. If what you want is to go down on a guy, like. I mean, I don't think I can return the favor, but if you ever wanted to, I wouldn't say no."

Spencer takes a deep breath. He says, "Brendon." It's a bad idea. He knows it's a really, really bad idea, but his breath catches in his throat and his cock starts to swell.

"Never mind. I just thought maybe, you know, if it was with me then I'd know you weren't going to get murdered by some psycho. And it's not like I'm going to say no to a blowjob. I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have said anything."

Spencer takes another deep breath. He closes the laptop and sets it on Brendon's coffee table. He says, "Are you serious?" He doesn't look over to see Brendon's face.

Brendon's voice is shaky when he says, "Yes?"

Spencer moves to kneel between Brendon's legs, and he doesn't let himself hesitate. He reaches for Brendon's fly and says, "You have to be sure."

"I'm sure," Brendon says. He doesn't sound sure, but Spencer reaches for the waistband of his pajama pants anyway.

Brendon's cock is already getting hard, tenting the soft flannel. Spencer grips the waistband and says, "Lift up." When Brendon lifts his hips, Spencer tugs his pants down to his thighs, then all the way down and off.

Spencer leans in and slides the flat of his tongue from the base all the way to the tip. Brendon whispers, "Oh," so, so softly, and his fingers come to rest in Spencer's hair. Spencer licks at his cock some more, then takes the head of Brendon's cock in his mouth and starts to suckle gently.

Brendon's cock is curved sharply upward, and Spencer thinks if he wasn't sucking it, it would be pressed hard against Brendon's belly. It fits in his mouth almost perfectly, and he likes the way the head flares out, giving him a lot of underside to run his tongue along.

Then Brendon actually grabs Spencer by the ears and tries to force his head down. Spencer pulls back and gives Brendon a sharp slap on the inside of his thigh. Brendon shivers and his hips roll. "Don't hold my head," Spencer tells him. "You can touch my hair if you want, but don't pull it. If you need to grab onto something, hold on to the couch, okay?"

Brendon says, "Okay. Oh, my God. Spencer, you have to. You can't stop."

"I'm not stopping," Spencer says and tips his head back down. The same adrenaline rush as all the other times washes over him. He stops worrying or caring about anything but the feel of Brendon's cock in his mouth, the wet slide of spit over his lips.

Brendon whines high in his throat, and his fingers twist through Spencer's hair. It gets just to the point of painful and then he seems to remember himself and he eases his grip. The only thing he says is, "Spencer," over and over again.

Spencer's never been with somebody who knew his real name before. He didn't know he'd like hearing it so much.

Brendon grunts once, loudly, then shudders and Spencer's mouth is suddenly full of come. He pulls back and chokes a little bit, and Brendon's fingers twist in his hair.

"Sorry," Brendon whispers. "Sorry, sorry, I was trying to hold off."

Spencer licks his lips. He can feel Brendon's come running down his chin. He fumbles with his fly and shoves his hand into his pants, jerking himself off quickly. Then Brendon tips his face up, runs his thumb over Spencer's lower lip and gazes down at him. His mouth is open and his eyes are soft and unfocused. He says, "Spencer."

Spencer closes his eyes and he comes with Brendon's fingers gentle on his face and the taste of Brendon's cock in his mouth. He rests his head on Brendon's bare thigh and tries to catch his breath. Brendon keeps touching his hair and his shoulders, and it's really nice, but eventually Spencer says. "I should probably get cleaned up."

He washes his face in Brendon's tiny little bathroom sink, uses a washcloth to wipe down his stomach and dick. He tries not to look in the mirror. He's not sure how he feels.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Brendon's got his pajama pants back on and he's fiddling with his TV, trying to get one of the stations to come in clear. He doesn't look up, but he does say, "You can crash here tonight if you want."

"Nah," Spencer says with a shrug. "I'm, um, I'm just going to take off. I'll see you at practice tomorrow, though."

"Yeah," says Brendon. He doesn't say anything else as Spencer packs up his books, but just before he leaves, Brendon says, "This isn't going to get weird, is it?"

"I think it's already a little weird," Spencer admits, hand on the doorknob.

"It doesn't have to be weird," Brendon says.

Spencer nods and says, "Okay," before he leaves.

When he gets home, Ryan's there, because of course he is. Of course Spencer can't just spend the night alone and freaking out. "Have you heard anything about Kaitlyn and that Nate guy?" Ryan asks as Spencer drops his backpack on the foot of his bed.

"No," says Spencer. It doesn't mean anything, really. He and Kaitlyn might go to the same school, but it's not like they're friends, it's not like anybody would have any reason to tell him anything about her. It doesn't mean much, but Ryan seems satisfied.

"I put the new version of _Relax, Relapse_ up today," Ryan tells him. "We've already got, like, twenty hits."

"In one day?" Spencer asks.

"Since ten o'clock this morning."

Spencer grins and stretches out on his bed. Sometimes he worries that they're not going to make it, that he's going to have to go to college or get a job, but Ryan's doesn't. Ryan's convinced they're going to make it, and Ryan's determination makes it easy to believe.

Spencer says, "I kind of miss having you around, you know."

"We see each other all the time," Ryan tells him.

"At practice. I just. I don't know. I miss hanging out like we used to."

"Well, I'll have more time next semester."

"Yeah?"

"I don't think I'm going back."

Spencer turns onto his side and looks at Ryan to see if he's joking. "But you love school. You love college."

Ryan shrugs. "I love music more. And you're right. I never have time to hang out with you guys anymore."

"Your dad's going to flip."

"I'm not going to tell him," Ryan admits. "I'm just going to see how long it takes him to notice."

"I wonder if that would work with my parents," Spencer says. "You think they'd be cool with me just dropping out in the middle of senior year?"

Ryan laughs at the idea. "I've seen your mom mad, Spence, and it's pretty scary. I don't even want to imagine what she'd do if you told her you were dropping out." He furrows his brows, then gazes down at the notebook he'd been writing in.

"You're imagining it right now, aren't you?"

"It's pretty epic," Ryan tells him. "In my head, she's sobbing while simultaneously screaming at you and breaking plates."

Spencer can't imagine his mother breaking plates, which is why it's good that Ryan's the lyricist and not him. If he had to write lyrics, they'd probably be about how much he loves nacho cheese. Or cock. Spencer could probably write a lot of lyrics about how much he loves cock.

"Are you getting sick?" Ryan asks. "You just turned red."

"I'm not sick," Spencer says. "And I'm not blushing, so fuck you."

"Why are you blushing?"

"None of your business. I just. My brain got carried away for a second."

Ryan raises one eyebrow, interested. Then his stomach growls and he laughs and rubs at it. "I don't suppose your mom has meatloaf or anything downstairs."

"Don't let her hear you say meatloaf or she'll actually make one just for you. And, yeah, you know there are always leftovers."

Spencer follows Ryan downstairs and sits at the table while Ryan raids the fridge.

"You want some?" Ryan asks, holding up a pan of lasagna.

Spencer loves his mom's lasagna, especially after it's had a day to sit in the fridge, but he shakes his head. His mouth is still a little tingly and he can still sort of taste Brendon on his tongue. Before, if a guy came in his mouth, he couldn't wait to get home and brush his teeth. But knowing it's Brendon he tastes makes it less gross, somehow. He taps a syncopated rhythm against the tabletop with his thumbs, and Ryan hums a melody to go along with it as he transfers giant slices of lasagna onto a plate and sticks it into the microwave.

"I think you and Brendon are answers to my mom's wildest dreams," Spencer tells him. "Children she can feed as much as she wants who never get fat."

"You're not fat," Ryan says. "Well, I mean. Not in a bad way."

Spencer laughs and rolls his eyes.

"How is he? Brendon."

Spencer shrugs. "He's okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He's tired and he's overworking himself, but he's okay, I guess. I don't know. I've been sleeping over there a lot."

Ryan looks over at Spencer and raises his eyebrows. "Really," he says.

"Not like that."

Ryan looks dubious.

"What?" Spencer asks. "Why would you even think that he and I...?"

"Because you're both gay and you spend every waking hour together," Ryan says with a shrug.

Spencer's breath catches in his throat. He says, "Brendon's not gay."

"Pull the other one," Ryan says.

"He's not. I, um. I am, though."

Ryan watches his plate of lasagna rotate in the microwave, then pulls it out immediately after it dings. He never lets it set for two minutes the way he should, always just digs right into it when it's still too hot. He takes a bite, then sucks air through his mouth and says, "Ow, ow, hot," and grabs a soda out of the fridge.

"You'd think the roof of my mouth would be impervious to pain by now," Ryan says after taking a long drink of soda.

"You already knew," says Spencer.

"About what? Oh, about you? Yeah. You thought I didn't?"

Spencer shrugs.

"If you'd wanted to keep a secret, you probably should have learned to clear your browser history in eighth grade."

That's true. It had taken a while for Spencer to realize how important clearing his history was. Now he does it compulsively, every five or ten minutes even when he's not looking at porn.

"You seriously didn't spend this whole time thinking that I didn't know, did you?"

Spencer sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "I didn't know how to tell you."

"And I thought you just didn't want to talk about it. Fuck, Spence. I would have, if I thought you'd ever wanted to talk about it, you know I would have brought it up. I just thought you weren't ready."

"I wasn't," Spencer admits. "I'm maybe still not. I don't know."

Then they hear footsteps on the stairs, his dad coming down for a snack, and even if Spencer did want to talk about it, he couldn't.

Later that night ,when Spencer's in bed and Ryan's on the air mattress on his floor, Spencer asks, "Do you think anybody else knows?"

"Probably not," Ryan tells him. "I don't think your parents know, if that's what you're asking. And I don't think Brent and Brendon know, either."

Spencer takes a deep breath. He says, "Brendon knows."

"Oh. And he's, I mean. You guys really aren't...?"

"No." Spencer thinks about telling Ryan about what he'd done earlier that night, but he doesn't.

"But you like him."

"It doesn't matter," Spencer says, and he curls up on his side with his face to the wall and tells himself that it doesn't. It doesn't matter at all.

**********

Spencer's family goes all out for Thanksgiving every year. His entire house is decorated in turkeys and fall leaves and cornucopias filled with pomegranates and Indian corn and weirdly shaped gourds.

Spencer's father usually cooks the turkey and the green bean casserole. His mom makes three different kinds of pie. Spencer tries his hand at a potato and vegetable gratin recipe he'd found online, and his sisters make ambrosia salad and mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy. Even Ryan gets into the act, showing up with a creamed corn casserole and a plate of coconut macaroons.

They eat early in the afternoon, so the cooking's mostly done by the time Brendon gets there at two. "Should I have brought food?" Brendon asks, looking around the Smith's packed, busy kitchen.

"Do we look like we need more food?" Spencer's mother asks with a laugh. "You can play the piano while Ryan and Spencer set the table. It would be nice to hear live music that's not the drum part from Wipeout pounded out on the dining room table."

"I rock at that," Spencer says.

"He really does," says his father.

Brendon plays _Clair de Lune_ , a Bach air, a lilting version of _Scarborough Fair_ , and a bunch other things that Spencer doesn't recognize. When he goes into a version of _Karma Police_ , Spencer stops arranging the silverware on the table and just watches Brendon play. His back is always so straight when he plays, his eyes closed, lashes dark on his pale cheeks, fingers sure and strong.

"Oh, that's lovely," Spencer's mother says once Brendon's finished. "Did you write that one?"

"No, it's um, it's by Radiohead."

"Play me something you wrote."

Brendon says, "Okay," and goes into an intricate piece full of triplets and runs before it morphs into a lush waltz. Spencer's never heard it before. It's only a minute or two long, but it's amazing.

"When did you write that?" Spencer asks.

Brendon ducks his head down and says, "It's just something I was playing around with."

"It's good," says Ryan, and he doesn't even say it grudgingly. "Do you have more?"

Brendon nods. "Yeah."

"Play the rest for us the next time we practice," is a command, not a request. Brendon just nods, though, and says, "Okay. Cool."

Spencer's mother always makes them go around the table saying what they're thankful for before they can eat. Ryan and Spencer and his sisters are always little jerks about it, saying things like, "candy," or, "text messaging," or, "Tom DeLonge."

Brendon's earnest, though. When it's Brendon's turn, he says, "I'm thankful I have so many good friends, people willing to take me in so I'm not alone on a holiday."

Spencer reaches a leg out beneath the table and presses his toes to the arch of Brendon's foot. Brendon looks up and gives him a quick smile, and they spend the rest of dinner like that, eating with their feet intertwined.

After dinner, they always watch _The Wizard of Oz_ in the family room while Spencer's father watches football in his den. Spencer usually falls into a food coma around the time Dorothy meets the Scarecrow, and he manages to make himself stay awake long enough for, "If I Only Had a Brain," which is his favorite song, but he falls to sleep soon after.

When he wakes up, he's leaning against Brendon's shoulder and Dorothy's already in the poppy field. The family room's dark and everyone's curled up with blankets and pillows, so nobody sees it when Brendon slides his hand down into Spencer's. Their fingers curl together, and Spencer takes a slow, deep breath. Spencer very carefully and very deliberately pretends to be fascinated by the movie, while inside his heart is starting to speed up and he's a little dizzy from the way Brendon's thumb keeps rubbing slow circles against his skin.

When the movie ends, Spencer's sisters are snuggled together under a blanket on the other end of the couch and Spencer's mother is wrapped in a blanket in her recliner, sipping hot chocolate. Ryan's on the floor, curled into a mound of blankets and pillows, fast asleep, though Spencer doesn't doubt he'll be wide awake again the moment Spencer's mother asks if anyone wants more pie.

Spencer pulls his hand away from Brendon's, but he tugs on Brendon's sleeve in a way he hopes conveys, _Follow me_. He stands and stretches and says, "I need a break."

"The Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special will be on soon," his mother reminds him.

"We'll be back in time for it," Spencer assures her. He doesn’t look back to see if Brendon's following him upstairs, but he's glad when he hears Brendon's footsteps behind him.

Once they get into his room, Spencer turns and says, "What?"

Brendon steps close and kisses him, fists his hands in Spencer's hoodie and kisses him hard and desperate. Spencer doesn't think, just kisses him back, lets Brendon yank at his clothes, doesn't think about anything until they're both naked and Spencer's sitting back on his bed with Brendon straddling his lap.

He says, "What are we doing?" but he doesn't really care when Brendon's only answer is another kiss. Their cocks are rubbing together, and the actual contact itself isn't amazing, but being able to touch all of Brendon's naked skin is. Hearing Brendon pant and moan into his mouth is amazing. Knowing that it's Brendon he's naked against is amazing.

Spencer doesn't know who comes first, but soon they're both sticky and sweaty, and Brendon's laughing softly and kissing Spencer's neck and curling up against him as they lie back on the bed. Brendon's body is like a furnace, giving off so much heat it's uncomfortable, but Spencer doesn't even want to move away. He runs his fingers over Brendon's hip, down his thigh, back up again.

Spencer says, "Brendon, what are we doing?"

"I don't know," Brendon admits, pressing his mouth to Spencer's collarbone. "I don't have everything all figured out. I just know that I really like you."

Spencer says, "Okay," because that's about all he has figured out, too.

The Charlie Brown special has already started when they get back downstairs. Ryan's taken their spot on the couch and he's eating a large slice of pecan pie covered in whipped cream. Spencer and Brendon take the floor in front of the couch, and while they don't snuggle too close together, they do pull one of the blankets around them and Brendon reaches out underneath it to hold Spencer's hand.

"The music in this is amazing," Brendon says softly. "Vince Guaraldi is a genius."

Spencer leans his head back against Ryan's bony knee and he squeezes Brendon's hand, and he says, "Yeah, he totally is."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [First Drafts and Unfinished Snippets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/567678) by [Sena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena)




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